Frozen is the property of Disney.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Age of Empires
The grand ballroom of Arendelle Castle had seen less than its share of balls in recent years, but that did not make it unworthy of its name. The space dominated a good portion of the west wing on the castle's first floor, and in its history had been host to summer galas, state dinners, and one particularly memorable coronation ball. Though often closed, especially in the winter when the cavernous room was too drafty to keep comfortable, the preparations being made to ready it for its role as the wedding reception hall had left it open and well-trafficked.
It had also been transformed, especially compared to that morning. The industry of the staff had paid off, leaving the room almost unrecognizable. A space at the center of the parquet floor remained open for dancing, but the surrounding area had been filled with tables, sturdy and magnificent constructs of dark, polished wood. A lone table, the largest of all, was set in front of the queen's throne on its raised dais, which stood against the wall opposite the tall double doors of the main entrance. The rows of twinned pillars along the other two walls opened into alcoves; the space to the left when facing the throne had been filled with a bandstand and the less ornate tables that would hold refreshments, while the other alcove – the room's sole exterior wall – had been left open for mingling. It was furnished only by pairs of chairs set between each tall latticed window.
Every archway was festooned with ribbons and banners in white and silver, while the window curtains and all the draperies hanging from the pillars had been replaced with alternating fabric of purple and green, the royal colors. Fresh candles shimmered behind frosted glass globes on each of the four massive chandeliers, and the sconces set into the pillars filled the room with warm golden light.
It was a vibrant and welcoming atmosphere, which Elsa knew would be perfect for the feast and celebration that would take place in a week's time. The castle would be full to bursting with guests and dignitaries and friends, and while she had her part to play, the queen was looking forward to attending a party where she would not be the center of attention.
She was quite keenly aware that today was not that day.
The scant dozen people that were present now, clustered around the head table, only seemed to make the space seem larger. Standing at the base of the platform in front of her throne, Elsa surveyed the faces clustered around her. Bishop William and Mayor Lucas were to one side, chatting with Ambassador Frederick, who sent Elsa a white-toothed smile. She ignored the Danish prince, allowing her eyes to keep moving from left to right as she took in Sebastian and Captain Martin, absorbed in their own conversation nearby. Kristoff, Seraphim and Uriel were huddled conspiratorially at the other end of the head table. The young queen had also beckoned Kai over to whisper something in the chamberlain's ear, which he was nodding along with. To Elsa's right, in the shadows behind the pillars and their accompanying lamplight, a full squad of Arendelle guardsmen was standing at attention. The queen thought the men looked like statues, half-hidden in the gloom. Through the windows to her left, night had fallen. Of the castle courtyard beyond, only pale shadows could be seen in the faint gleam of moonlight.
Anna sidled up to her, breaking the queen's ruminations with a tentative little wave. "You okay?"
Elsa managed a nervous smile. "I guess so. Are you?" she wondered. "For a rehearsal dinner, this evening isn't exactly following the schedule."
"We have one of those?" She feigned a gasp. "When did that happen?"
"Around the time you started forgetting whether you'd put the cutting of the cake before or after the first dance," Elsa said.
"And you wouldn't believe how bummed I am we don't have a cake to practice with tonight," Anna replied. "I'm worried about that part, you know. What if I'm standing in front of all those people and I forget how to cut a cake? The whole thing would be ruined. The kingdom might not survive the scandal!"
"Liar," Elsa teased. "You said yourself that tonight's an excuse for good food. You just want cake."
"Can't both things be true?" Anna wondered. "And you know me. When the big day comes, I'll probably forget which way I'm supposed to walk down the aisle."
"That would be towards Kristoff, dear," she deadpanned. "But we're not practicing that part tonight."
Anna winked. "Gotcha. I'll write myself a note to remember."
There was a brief sound of footsteps, and one of the doors of the main entrance cracked open just enough to admit a guard. He sent a furtive nod in Elsa's direction before taking his post beside the entrance.
Elsa took a deep breath. They were coming.
"It's not too late to move this shindig to the docks," Anna murmured.
The queen's face broke into a fleeting smile. She schooled her expression back into blank neutrality, but could tell as she glanced aside that her sister had noticed the slip. Amusement was glittering in Anna's eyes. "Shush. They're here."
This time, both doors opened with a flourish. First through came Minister Henrik. Elsa's councilor was strutting like a mother goose leading her flock as he entered at the head of a half-dozen men.
Two of them wore suits. The first was a balding man of perhaps fifty, humbly attired in a grey woolen waistcoat and shirt with a white ascot tie. His dark trousers and dull black boots were flecked with the white stains of sea salt. The outfit looked well-worn, much like its wearer, who looked about with an expression of harried appraisal.
The second man was younger, perhaps in his thirties, and much more finely dressed. His clothes were impeccably clean and made from cuts of rich fabrics. A fine jacket of black satin was positively encrusted with gold thread and leafing around the cuffs and across the chest, where it was eclipsed only by a thick baldric of red silk. A high, starched collar propped up a narrow, pinched face, which stared forward unsmilingly.
The other four men accompanying the minister wore military uniforms, but while three of them were apparently guards, the fourth was much more regally appointed. Immaculate white trousers were tucked into gleaming black boots, and a cavalry saber hung at his left hip from a belt that looked to be made of pure gold. His vest was blood-red, save where it was gold as well: the single row of buttons and a medallion of station as big as an apple.
Minister Henrik herded the entourage to a stop in front of the head table, and turned to make introductions. "Your Majesty, may I present our most honored guests. From the Empire of Russia," he gestured to the balding man in the simple suit, "Mikhail Speransky, minister of the state council and advisor to Tsar Alexander."
It was only at the sound of his name that the man noticed the minister pointing to him. He looked at Elsa and bowed respectfully, though without saying a word. Elsa acknowledged him with an equally silent but gracious nod.
"And from the Empire of Austria, two most esteemed individuals," Henrik went on. "My counterpart from Vienna, Klemens von Metternich, Foreign Minister." Henrik indicated the finely-tailored man, who was surveying the room with a look of boredom.
Metternich spared Elsa a similarly disinterested glance. "Your Majesty," he said stiffly, granting her only the barest tilt of his head. Elsa wondered if he was encumbered by his starched collar, but she realized that what little respect he had granted her was also marred by a sneer. As the expression turned the man's pinched face, Elsa found herself with the strong impression of a rat.
"Last, but certainly not least," Henrik concluded, with a shuffling bow towards the man in the opulent red uniform, "The Archduke Louis of Habsburg-Lorraine, Prince Imperial and brother to Emperor Francis." Though his face was difficult to read, the man snapped to attention and bowed to Elsa with crisp, military precision.
"Gentlemen, welcome to Arendelle," Elsa said, looking to each of them in turn. Archduke Louis was attentive, standing at parade rest. Minister Metternich was still glancing about the ballroom, surveying his surroundings with an expression that eloquently illustrated how unimpressed he was. Speransky was listening to her words, but had a blank look on his face, almost like he couldn't quite hear her. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be served shortly."
"That won't be necessary," Metternich said, stepping forward. Speaking in French, his voice was precise, nasal, and more than a little condescending. "Much as we appreciate your kingdom's…" he glanced pointedly at the throne behind Elsa, one eyebrow creeping upwards, "rustic charm… I'd much rather get this business over with."
Archduke Louis cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was thickly flavored with the rough, though not unpleasant, Germanic growl of his homeland. "My colleague is obviously eager to speak to you, but we have traveled quite a long way, through rough and unfriendly seas," he said, giving Metternich a sidelong look. "I would gladly accept some wine while we wait."
"Of course," said Elsa. She nodded at Kai, who took up a tray with glasses in one hand and a pitcher in another.
Before the chamberlain had even made his way around the table, Metternich groaned. "Superstitious nonsense," he muttered.
As Kai offered him a glass, the archduke accepted it with a polite nod and took a sip. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Your hospitality is most appreciated."
Elsa was curious at the dynamic in play before her. Metternich, with all his arrogance and dismissiveness, was acting in a way that Elsa was prepared to deal with. He was behaving as she might expect the important minister of a great nation to behave when sent to a tiny kingdom like Arendelle; it was almost refreshing, in a way.
Archduke Louis was tougher to read. Though outwardly calm and far more polite, his asking for refreshment and thanking her for hospitality might have been deliberate. One of the oldest and most sacred traditions in the civilized world was that of hospitality: a guest was to be kept safe and protected by their host, and was not to harm their host in return. Elsa had welcomed the ambassadors to her kingdom, and by accepting her offer – taking the glass of wine – the Archduke had symbolically reciprocated. There was no way to know whether Louis was trying to tell her something, or if he had simply been thirsty, but the Habsburg dynasty was one of the oldest in Europe. They had not endured through carelessness.
Speransky, of course, having yet to say a word, was still a mystery to her. "Ambassador," she said, addressing the Russian representative, "would you care for anything? We have coffee or tea, if you'd prefer."
He saw her speaking to him, but his only reply was a blank stare.
Metternich snorted. It was a high, wheezy sound, full of contempt. "Your words are wasted on him," he sneered. "He doesn't speak French. Or German. Or English. We're all out of luck with this one, unless you're fluent in Latin."
Something in his tone drew a scowl from Speransky. He might not speak the language, but he could certainly tell a lot from Metternich's manners.
Louis was quick to offer an explanation. "We set sail from Gdańsk on four Prussian frigates, but were scattered by a storm shortly afterwards. By the time we had regrouped, one of our convoy had been picked off by a privateer, presumably French," he said. "We were hosting Mr. Speransky for dinner on our flagship, but his luggage and his entourage, including his interpreter, were lost."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Elsa said diplomatically.
"One of the officers on our ship speaks German and some Latin," Louis went on. "Which has allowed us to communicate a bit, but I'm aware that might make for some awkwardness. I don't suppose your foreign minister speaks Russian?"
"Sadly, no," said Henrik. "I'm not aware of anyone in Arendelle who—"
Suddenly, Anna was all but bouncing on her toes, waving a hand in the air like an eager student in the schoolhouse. "Ooh! Me, me! I mean, ya delayu!"
Speransky's gaze shot to Anna. He blinked in confusion. "Vy govorite po russki?" he said.
Anna held her hand flat, tilting it back and forth. "Nemnoga."
Speransky broke into a wide smile that took years off his face. He and Anna approached one another, bursting into a rapid exchange of chatter that no one else in the room could even begin to follow. Elsa looked at Archduke Louis, who shrugged.
"Wonderful," Metternich said dryly. "Shall we solve all the rest of the world's problems by waiting for happenstance, or might we get down to business?"
"Always in such a rush, Klemens. Does it make you feel more important to seem so harried?" The question came from Prince Frederick, and Elsa was relieved to see the man's sly grin aimed in another direction for a change.
"Ah, Frederick. How wonderful to see you," Metternich replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How is your cousin? Still cleaning Bonaparte's boots, I presume?"
"Why would he bother? The shine from your master's last visit is still fresh."
"Still playing the witty courtier, I see," scoffed Metternich. "Small wonder you're so easily confused by the difference between a peace treaty and an alliance. Austria has never been a willing friend to France."
"Oh, so that's why you keep changing sides," Frederick purred. "I thought it might have finally stuck when you arranged for Emperor Francis to marry his daughter to the Corsican. I know it's natural for men to look unfavorably upon their sons-in-law, but going to war? Don't you think that's a bit excessive?"
There was a shred of guilty amusement roused deep in Elsa's heart at the sight of the men spitting at each other instead of her, but diplomacy demanded she ensure that her guests didn't call for pistols in her own grand ballroom. "Gentlemen, please!" she called out, before the argument could escalate. "This isn't the time or the place for such discussions."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Frederick said, turning to bow. "I didn't mean to sully your court with idle banter. My apologies."
Metternich sent a sniff of laughter in the prince's direction. "Sully, indeed." He turned to her. "Queen Elsa, the sooner you hear us out, the sooner we can be on our way."
"Don't be in such a hurry to leave, Minister," said Frederick. "I've found the charm of this place growing with each passing day." He winked at Elsa.
She scowled, and Metternich opened his mouth to retort, but both of them were forestalled by Archduke Louis. "It might be best if the minister and I retired for the evening, and met with you at another time," he said to Elsa. He cast a significant glance at Frederick. "Perhaps when it's not so crowded. After all, I see no need to have come all this way only to rush through the business at hand."
"Guest rooms have been prepared for both the minister and yourself, Your Grace," Elsa offered. While she'd originally decided to only provide quarters to the titled ambassadors, she was not about to ask an Imperial Prince to find lodgings in the city, let alone relegate him to the staff quarters in the castle basement. "I hope you can understand that I'm a bit preoccupied with preparations for my sister's wedding, but I will of course try to find some time for—"
She was interrupted by the sound of the doors to the ballroom opening. A guard hurried through, making a beeline for Elsa at a pace that was just shy of a run. Muttering a hasty apology to the gathered guests, he made his way around the head table and bent over to whisper a message.
Amidst the curious stares and conspicuous silence that had fallen over the room, Elsa's eyes grew wide. "See them in," she said at once, dismissing the guard with a shaky nod. As he jogged back the way he had come, Elsa turned to address the room, straining to hold on to her calm countenance.
"It seems more guests have just arrived," Elsa announced. Her gaze darted across the friendlier faces arrayed before her. Minister Henrik was blinking owlishly. Seraphim and Uriel shared a surprised look. Anna, stopped mid-sentence in her conversation with Speransky, was glancing back and forth between her sister and the doors with concern.
The entrance to the grand ballroom was thrown open once more, and a pair of guards ushered in a new group of visitors. They were led by a man in a distinctive military uniform, royal blue with gold epaulettes. As he entered, he raised a hand to remove his white-feathered bicorn hat. In the same hand, tucked into the crook of his elbow, was a velvet-wrapped baton in the same dark blue shade of his uniform. He was marching forward with long, precise steps, like a general striding onto the field of battle, quickly closing the distance across the grand ballroom.
He was followed by another man in a long, tailed suit and high white stockings. The second man was struggling to keep pace, as he walked with an obvious limp. He carried a cane that clicked loudly on the parquet floor with every step, the sound echoing in the sudden silence that filled the ballroom.
They came to a stop next to the Austrian delegates, who were regarding the newcomers with dark, wary looks. Metternich inhaled with an audible gasp when he looked at the man with the cane, who returned his gaze with a small smile and a jaunty nod of his head.
The uniformed man took one last step forward to speak. He was clean shaven, with short, dark hair and thick sideburns. Four silver stars were sewn into his collar. "Your Majesty. I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but when I heard you were meeting already with emissaries to your kingdom, I felt it prudent to insist we see you at once."
"No apology is necessary," Elsa replied. Her words sounded stiff and her tongue felt clumsy, in comparison to the man's silky, flawless French. "All are welcome in Arendelle."
"I'm glad to hear it," the officer replied. "But where are my manners? I am General Auguste de Marmont, Marshal of the Empire and His Imperial Majesty Napoleon the First's appointed ambassador to the Kingdom of Arendelle."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, General," Elsa replied. She waited for a moment, but Marmont made no move towards subsequent introductions. "And who are your companions…?" she prompted.
Marmont frowned, casting a reluctant glance over the golden tassels of his shoulder boards.
The man with the cane gave the general a cheeky grin as he took a shuffling half-step forward. "No one of note, Your Majesty," he said. He bowed awkwardly, smoothing his ash-blonde hair back with his free hand as he rose. "I'm merely an advisor to the good general. Though his prowess upon the field of battle is matched by few, I came along to provide my own not inconsiderable experience in the arena of politics."
"And for all that experience, you've never learned to get to the point," Marmont growled. "Her Majesty didn't ask for your life story, Talleyrand, just your name."
"Which you declined to provide. I wonder, which of us struggles more with – how did you put it? – getting the point." He turned back to Elsa. "Charles de Talleyrand is my name, Your Majesty. I shall not claim to be at your service, for as you can see the fearsome general has that honor already."
"Talleyrand," hissed the Austrian foreign minister. "What are you doing here?"
The Frenchman spread his arms. "Well, Klemens, I can tell you with complete confidence that I am standing."
Metternich blinked. "Last I heard, you'd been dismissed from your post and charged with treason. Why in God's name would Bonaparte let you out of his sight?"
"The Emperor has shared few of his concerns with me in recent years," Talleyrand replied, "the main exception being the fact that I am not among them. On the contrary, I was approached by Foreign Minister Maret, and offered a chance to provide my expertise to this charming expedition. On the condition that I am here strictly as a private citizen," he said, turning to Elsa, "I have been given a remarkable opportunity to visit a place whose name I somehow neglected to learn, in all my years of service to the French Foreign Ministry. I can see now that I was hopelessly ill-informed of the wonders beyond our fair continent."
"Thank you," said Elsa. In the man before her she found an enigma. He spoke with none of Metternich's dismissiveness or Archduke Louis' stiff formality. His words seemed honest, in a way Prince Frederick's sly flattery never did. And for all his protestations of humility, he had won the attention of the room from the moment he'd stepped forward. It was no wonder Marmont, who was supposed to be the actual ambassador, had been so reluctant to introduce him. "I hope you enjoy your visit to Arendelle," she offered.
"I think that quite likely," Talleyrand replied. "But first, if you'll allow me one last introduction, Your Majesty," he said, turning to the side and holding out a hand with a beckoning motion.
Only then did Elsa realize there was another member of the French party. A third figure stepped out from a place half-hidden behind Marmont and between the two Arendelle guards that had escorted them into the room. Though dressed in a suit coat and long trousers bloused into a pair of uniform boots, the queen realized with a start that she was looking at a young woman. Curves hidden by the strange choice of attire, it was only by her fine features and hair that her gender was revealed. Hands with delicate fingers reached up to tug at the braid of long, chocolate-brown hair over her shoulder as she stepped hesitantly into view. Two strikingly pale blue eyes, like a high summer sky, glanced at the queen in a succession of brief, almost fearful, glances.
"Come now, my dear, Her Majesty won't bite," Talleyrand urged. "She's a shy thing, to be sure," he said to Elsa. "This is Alais, my aide."
The young woman said nothing, only shuffled until she was hidden behind Talleyrand instead. She was Elsa's own age, perhaps a few years older, but it was difficult to tell for certain, given her manner and hunched posture. "It's nice to meet you," Elsa said gently.
"Please don't take offense, Your Majesty," said Talleyrand. "But around new faces, especially, I fear she's not one for many words."
"Which you've more than made up for by yourself," Marmont interrupted. Elsa, who had still been watching Alais, saw the young woman flinch. The general's tone was sharp, though directed at Talleyrand and not at the poor girl huddled behind him. He turned to address the queen. "Now that introductions have been settled, perhaps we can move on. Your Majesty, I have been sent here with—"
"Now wait just a second," Metternich barked. "You can't just barge in here and start talking. We were here first!"
"If your business isn't concluded," Talleyrand said, "perhaps you should have talked faster."
"Let me handle this," Marmont said, stepping in between his fellow Frenchman and Metternich. "If I need your advice, I'll be sure to ask for it."
"This isn't some siege on the Peninsula you can throw a fresh regiment at, Marmont," Metternich growled. "If you think Austria will stand idly by as—"
Before Elsa could step in to stop yet another brewing confrontation, the entire room was shocked into silence by a long, loud, and piercingly shrill whistle. Ears ringing, she looked towards the sound.
Next to Ambassador Speransky, who was wide-eyed and gawking with his hands clapped over his ears, was Anna. Two fingers were still pinched between her lips, and a furious flush was creeping up her neck. She moved her hand from her mouth in order to point a shaking finger at the quarrelsome delegations. "Look, I don't know who you all think you are, and I don't really care. But you've barged in on the rehearsal dinner for my wedding, and now you're arguing like a bunch of kids in front of my sister. You know, the queen over there? She's too nice to box your ears – or, better yet, freeze your loud mouths shut – but if you guys need a referee, I'm game."
More than a dozen pairs of eyes blinked at the princess in the overwhelming silence of the grand ballroom. The flush on Anna's neck crept upwards to her ears. She glanced at Elsa, one side of her mouth twisting into a sheepish grin. "Was that too much?"
"Oh, I like her!" Talleyrand said, with a single bark of laughter.
"Ahem," Elsa managed weakly, trying to reclaim both her composure and the attention of the assembled audience. "What my sister means to say is…" she spent a moment groping for a more politic translation. Nothing sprang to mind, so she gave up. If the goal had been to ensure the ambassadors and their delegations were surprised and off-balance, that mission was certainly accomplished. At least no one had ended up in the harbor this time around.
Elsa drew herself up and simply started over. "Dinner should be served momentarily," she offered, surprised at the sound of her own calmness after Anna's rather more honest and direct tone. "If any of you wish to dine with us this evening, you're more than welcome to stay." She felt the shadow of a smile creep into her calm demeanor. "Anyone with other plans can speak to my sister."
The Austrian and French embassies traded brief, scathing looks, but no one took the queen – or rather the princess – up on the implied offer. The hum of voices returned, however haltingly, as the groups scattered into the small cliques of mingling conversations. Speransky caught Anna's attention with a hushed inquiry, probably asking what all the shouting had been about. Metternich frowned before walking up to Talleyrand and his aide. General Marmont seemed to drift for a moment, before being approached by Seraphim and Uriel.
Chaos thus forestalled for the time being, Elsa took a deep breath and walked over to the bays of tall windows to the side of the room. She looked out upon the castle courtyard, which stood quiet and empty, lit faintly by the silvery sheen of moonlight. Judging by the glittering spouts of the fountains and the quiescence of the windows in their frames, the howling winds of the past few days seemed to have finally calmed. Elsa wondered briefly if that was some kind of omen, and if so, whether it was a good sign or a bad one.
"A lovely evening," a voice said from behind her.
Elsa jumped with a gasp, startled out of her wandering thoughts. Turning, she saw Archduke Louis, standing a respectful distance away.
"Never fear, Your Majesty." He smiled thinly, and held up his wine glass, as if to make a toast. "Had I been looking to spring an ambush, this would not have been my weapon of choice."
Buying a moment for her heart rate to return to normal, Elsa studied him. The Archduke's hair was a nest of dark, scraggly curls, creeping back in a way that could no longer quite hide a widow's peak. His eyes were small and slightly uneven, with a heavy-lidded look that made him seem rather tired. His nose was tall and flat, leading down to a pouty mouth and too-small chin. Up close, even in the faint light, he was not a handsome man. But in spite of that, Elsa found her momentary fears fading. He had startled her, yes, but he did not scare her. That was a distinction worth noting. "Should I be looking for an ambush, Your Grace?" she wondered.
"Always," he replied. Then he shrugged. "But perhaps I've spent too much of my life as a soldier to think otherwise. I've been told I possess a healthy sense of paranoia."
"I see," said Elsa. She had never been a soldier, and hoped fervently never to become one. But she, too, had grown up with one eye constantly looking over her shoulder. Hiding herself, staying away from the few people around her… perhaps it was not so different, in a sense. But that was not a question for a stranger. "Was there something you needed?"
"I wonder," Louis replied. He held up his wine glass, swirling and studying the contents for a moment before giving Elsa a sidelong glance. "This is a fine vintage, but I've always had a taste for iced wine. If you don't think it too impertinent to ask, could you…?"
"Of course," she said, with a faint smile. He held out his glass, but Elsa didn't take it. She merely held her hand above it, and a few inches from her palm there was a soft shimmer of blue light. Three small pieces of ice took shape in perfect crystal-clear cubes, dropping into the half-full glass with a series of plops.
Louis held his glass up to the faint moonlight, staring in wonder. "Remarkable," he breathed.
Elsa was suddenly reminded that not everyone was so familiar with her magic. "It's safe," she said, feeling compelled to reassure him. "No different from any other ice."
"That would be patently untrue, unless all ice in Arendelle appears from thin air," he countered, a bit wryly. "You know, I wasn't quite sure what to believe when the stories reached Vienna. Too many accounts to dismiss out of hand, but I don't think any amount of eyewitness testimony can truly match the impact of seeing something with one's own two eyes."
Elsa turned away, preferring the serenity of the darkened courtyard to the awestruck and oddly hungry expression on the Archduke's face. It was another reminder of just why so many strangers from the grand empires of the continent had come to Arendelle. Not to make polite conversation or enjoy a glass of iced wine, but to see her… or rather, her powers. And claim them. "So now you've seen things for yourself, Your Grace. You sound almost surprised."
"Shouldn't I be?" he wondered. "Admittedly, I wasn't quite as skeptical as Minister Metternich. I feel I must apologize for him; though he's come all this way, he's done so convinced we were on a fool's errand. Even before my brother sent us off, Klemens was adamant that this whole journey was a tremendous waste of time."
That certainly explained the blatant disinterest the Austrian minister had shown from the moment he'd arrived. "I almost wish he were right," Elsa said quietly. But as soon as the words escaped her, she wished she hadn't said anything at all .
To his credit, Louis did not pounce on her ill-thought confession. Instead he nodded, almost sympathetically. "I don't imagine this is how you envisioned spending the days leading up your sister's wedding."
"That's not what I meant," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to imply—"
"Don't worry," he cut her off with a dismissive wave. "Another hazard of a soldier's life is spending a great deal of time in places where people who are none too happy to see you are forced to pretend otherwise. Most of them at least had the opportunity to fight back before it happened." He took a sip from his wineglass. "You've been far more gracious than any of us had a right to expect."
That was a point of view that Elsa had not considered. She'd been so busy wishing the embassies weren't coming that she'd not spared much thought to how they might expect to be received. "What did you expect?" she wondered. "I mean, if you were so unsure about what you'd find…"
"I don't rightly know," Louis replied. "Exaggeration? Outright myth? To be thrown back by a winter storm? Anything and everything in between, perhaps. You know, more than a few of the crewmen on our ships were certain the winds we fought all the way here were actually your doing."
"It would have been tempting to try," Elsa admitted. "But even I'm not capable of throwing a gale across the whole North Sea."
Their conversation was interrupted by the harsh bark of Minister Metternich. "And we're all glad to hear it," he said. "Of course, if you had been responsible, it would be cause to question your motives."
"Klemens," Louis said wearily, "don't start—"
"Please, Your Grace, let me finish. If you wish to indulge in magical fantasies, at least allow me to carry the thought to its logical conclusion. After all, the wind that stymied us on the journey west was just as instrumental in bringing the French here swiftly." He gave Elsa a pointed look. "Tell me, Your Majesty. What would you conclude from that, I wonder?"
"I can't change the world, Ambassador," Elsa replied tartly, refusing to acknowledge the implication that she was playing favorites amongst the delegations. It was with perfect impartiality and equal fervor that she wanted them all elsewhere. "And if I could change it, I wouldn't want to."
"All the more reason you are completely unworthy of our mission here," Metternich replied, "You have no vision. No ambition. And that's why you are of no consequence, even if I were to accept all this nonsense about your whims controlling ice and snow."
Elsa held her tongue. She allowed herself a brief fantasy, envisioning just how quickly a blizzard in the ballroom would dispel the man's obnoxious skepticism, but she kept that image in her imagination alone. If she wanted these people to believe that she had no desire to use her powers on their behalf, such a display would be both petty and counterproductive. Her magic had a greater purpose than quieting one combative cynic. In fact, she would be much better served by reinforcing his viewpoint that she wasn't worth their time.
Before Elsa could think of a way to make her own case, another new voice joined the conversation. "Don't be so sure, Metternich." Christian Frederick emerged from the shadows behind the nearest pair of pillars, where he had apparently been eavesdropping. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss something just because you find it incredible."
Elsa glanced nervously about, all of a sudden finding herself terribly outnumbered. Back in the middle of the room, she could see Anna still absorbed in conversation with Ambassador Speransky. Nearby, Kristoff had somehow been swept up into a conversation with Talleyrand and Minister Henrik. While Seraphim and Uriel both appeared to be keeping General Marmont at bay, they had their backs to her. Elsa cursed her own foolishness; she should have stayed near the head table, where she would have been closer to help, or at least easier to spot than she was in the shadows of the alcove.
The only person who seemed to be looking her way was the quiet French aide, Alais. She was standing next to Talleyrand, staring fixedly at Elsa. But when the young woman caught the queen looking back at her, she turned away.
Regrettably, Elsa couldn't call for her guards to save her from smalltalk. For the moment, it seemed the queen's only reprieve was that the dignitaries moving to surround her were more intent upon one another. Frederick was eyeing Metternich with the same sly, vaguely predatory look he'd given Elsa during the last half of their audience. "If you're so convinced that this trip was a waste of time, why are you even here?"
"I serve at the pleasure of Emperor Francis," Metternich replied haughtily. "I go where I'm asked."
"Not without a tremendous amount of bellyaching, it seems," Frederick countered. "For such a loyal servant, you sure do groan a lot."
"I make a point of not mincing words. I didn't spare the emperor my thoughts on what a waste of time this little side trip was going to be, but he still trusts me to represent him because he values honesty."
"It's a shame he doesn't prefer tact."
"Ambassadors, please," Elsa said. The delegations had shared a room for less than twenty minutes, and she was already losing count of how many times the parties had threatened one another like cats and dogs. It didn't help that Frederick seemed to make a living by provoking responses from his targets.
"Apologies, Your Majesty," the Danish prince said. "I meant no disrespect."
Elsa doubted that very much. "I'm getting tired of listening to you apologize for the same offenses, Ambassador. If you want me to take your ambitions seriously, you might try honesty yourself for a change."
"I'd love to know what those ambitions might be," Metternich said sarcastically. He chuckled as he glanced at Archduke Louis. "Composing a love sonnet to himself, perhaps?"
"None of your business," Frederick replied smoothly. Ignoring the minister's amusement, he took Elsa's hand, bending into a bow to kiss it. "That is a matter between Her Majesty and myself."
Elsa's skin crawled beneath the man's oily touch. She pulled her hand from his grasp, wrapping her arms about her stomach as she backed away, all but pressing herself against the nearest window. It was all too much. "His Highness has designs on the throne of Norway," she spat out, unthinking. Frederick's attentions had finally driven Elsa too far beyond comfort to ignore. Some part of her, the small and forgotten embers of self-worth stifled by years of isolation and neglect, lashed out, wishing to hurt this man, as he had hurt her. "I'm told the Assembly has already offered him the crown."
Frederick stood stock-straight, mouth open in shock; Elsa could not have wished for a better response if she had slapped him full in the face. But her sense of victory was short-lived. The Danish prince's surprise vanished into simmering anger, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
Elsa felt her mouth go dry as the consequences of her impulsiveness slowly dawned. She hadn't bothered correcting Metternich's wrongheaded skepticism, and it was for the same reasons that she should never have replied to Frederick's latest impertinence so harshly: the benefits of being right were far outweighed by the cost. Elsa had forgotten herself, and in so doing had forgotten that this was a man with a demonstrated ability to hurt her with his words. Without wit or guile to call upon, her only weapon had been the crude betrayal of the ambassador's plans, but Frederick could do far worse.
The question was what. Would he reveal the role he'd offered to her once he'd taken a crown of his own? Or would he simply tell the story of her clumsy attempts to play the ambassadors off as wedding guests? Nothing fatal, perhaps, except to Elsa's already limited credibility. Or would he simply choose one of his cutting remarks? Already near the point of panic, the queen knew it wouldn't take much to send her running from the room like a terrified little girl. She felt the sweat tingling on the palms of her hands, which were trembling in spite of how tightly they were clenched.
Frederick stared at her. There was no hint of amusement in his dark, dangerous eyes. The muscles of his jaw were visibly clenched. His nostrils flared with each breath he took. Once. Twice. Thrice.
He looked away.
Metternich was smiling with grim amusement. "A crown? Really? So the young prince doesn't want to wait his turn to become a king. I'd congratulate you, but Norway? It's hardly worth the breath."
"Better a king than any man's errand boy," Frederick snarled back. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Metternich. You seem quite content begging for table scraps."
Elsa was barely listening. Relief washed over her, followed quickly by confusion. Why had the Danish ambassador passed up the opportunity to strike back at her? Surely not compassion. Even if he had bothered to demonstrate any capacity for it, Frederick's anger was frighteningly real, as his tone with Metternich made all too clear. The only thing that could stay the hand of a consummate politician like Prince Frederick was pragmatism; cold, simple self-interest was what had driven his every step since he'd left his ship. So what did he have to gain by sparing her?
When it came to her, the answer was stunningly simple. He needs me, Elsa realized. He needed her to tip the scales in the proposed triumvirate, and would depend upon her magic to ensure their safety from the other powers, all of whom were more populous and powerful than Denmark-Norway. He might enjoy teasing at her inexperience in private, but Frederick wasn't about to undercut or humiliate her publicly, not when the success or failure of his entire plot hinged on Elsa's cooperation.
If only the other ambassadors – or at least Klemens von Metternich – were so beholden. The Austrian foreign minister was giving no quarter. "You think I'm the one begging for scraps? Look at yourself, Frederick. You're willing to abase yourself before the ruler of a fishing village, all in the hopes of winning the favor of a queen whose influence stems from outlandish rumors. I may be here for the same purpose, but at least I'm not being so slavish about it."
"I don't know how Austrians usually treat potential allies," said Frederick, "but where I come from it's considered very bad form to insult one's host."
"I consider it far more uncouth to manipulate and lead on those who would be better served with the truth," Metternich replied, not backing down from the Danish prince in the slightest. "Unlike some, who have an endless supply of meaningless flattery on hand for anyone without the wits to see through it."
"Mind your tongue, Minister!" Louis commanded. "Remember that we are guests here!"
"Yes, Your Grace," Frederick said smoothly. "Muzzle your dog before he ruins any chance for success you might have. Lord knows the good minister is only proving the point I made to Her Majesty the other day."
"And what point would that be?" asked Metternich, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
"That only Denmark is prepared to entreat seriously with the Kingdom of Arendelle." The prince's anger had long since faded, and he was once more a picture of calm indifference. He gave Elsa a meaningful look. She could practically hear his words from the other day echoing anew: Do you actually think you'll get any offers that are better?
"Don't be ridiculous," Metternich scoffed. "I know your type, Frederick. The only thing you're serious about is finding another bedwarmer."
"Klemens, that's enough!" the Archduke said sharply. "For God's sake, Her Majesty is standing right here!"
Was she? Standing trapped between the three men and the windows to the courtyard, Elsa was listening to the conversation with a bizarre sense of detachment. Some part of her knew that she should be offended. That she should be speaking up in her own defense. But was it really so easy for everyone else to see how she was being outmaneuvered and used? Elsa had seen through Frederick's plot... eventually. But it had taken her far longer than it should have, as far as she was concerned, especially now that she'd seen how quickly a more experienced politician had cottoned on. And as crude as his analogy was, Metternich had summed up the queen's intended role in the Danish prince's scheme. The Austrian ambassador was crass and superior, yes, but was he wrong?
Even if he is, what choice do I have? Elsa wondered. Freezing the man's mouth shut in a fit of pique was hardly an option. Taking umbrage and evicting the ambassador was little better. It would only prove Frederick's point, and might endanger Arendelle in the process; men as proud as Metternich didn't react well to censure from those they deemed inferior. No, it was far better to ignore his insults and hope to work with Archduke Louis, who at least seemed reasonable.
Above all, Elsa was unwilling to take a risk. In trying to stand up for herself moments ago, she had just narrowly avoided humiliation by sheer chance. She was not about to try her luck again, not when she was playing as a pawn on the board in the age of empires.
"Believe what you will, Minister Metternich," said Frederick. His tone sent shivers down Elsa's spine. Somehow she knew she was watching a viper in the instant before it struck. "Perhaps you're just too ashamed of the hand you were dealt to negotiate in good faith."
"You silly little fool. You think the Austrian Empire is about to be outbid by the hinterland you call a kingdom?" Metternich was flushing with indignation, his chest puffing out beneath his tall starched collar. The Archduke reached out, perhaps trying to calm him, but in his ire the minister's rant stormed onwards. "What has Denmark offered? You? Hah! What are you, compared to the son and heir to Emperor Francis himself?"
Elsa wanted to sink into the windows behind her and disappear. It was bad enough being bartered over in a private audience. But these men were standing around, talking about whom she would marry as if each of them was presenting her with some great honor. As if, in exchange for her loyalty to them, they were offering her something she actually valued.
Louis had the grace to look ashamed, shaking his head sadly at his foreign minister. Metternich, for his part, seemed at last to have realized what the Danish envoy had goaded him into. His anger was gone, his arrogance collapsing like a thatch roof beneath several feet of snow.
And Ambassador Frederick was laughing.
Not a triumphant smirk. Not a superior snicker. Not even a satisfied chuckle. No, Prince Christian Frederick had doubled over with wild, uproarious, gut-shaking laughter. He seemed incapable of words. Every time he even looked at Metternich, his cachinnations intensified. As the noise echoed through the grand ballroom, drawing stares from the groups milling about the center of the room, Frederick began to walk away. Had Elsa cared at all for the man's well-being, she would have been worried at the breathless wheezing that was creeping into the sounds of his laughter as he stumbled in the direction of the exit.
The archduke was red-faced with shame, or anger, or both. Metternich had skipped red entirely for a shade of purple that clashed alarmingly with his silken baldric.
Elsa could only feel as though she'd missed the joke.